


Evermore

by PinstripesAndConverse



Category: City of Love: Paris (Visual Novel), Ubisoft City of Love: Paris (visual novel)
Genre: F/M, Faceless Eugene makes a cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/PinstripesAndConverse
Summary: Post Season 2.  The MC spends a final day in Paris before returning to the States to bring Kat’s body back.  Her return depends on an answer to whether or not she has anything in Paris to return for.  MC x Vincent Karm, MC is named.(Warning: Mild cursing and one use of the f-bomb)





	1. Chapter 1

Sophia checked the didactic text next to the doorway to confirm this was, in fact, the room she was looking for.  She had asked to meet him, probably a stupid thing to do (for him, not her; he was the one still evading police custody as far as she knew), but she needed to at least...see him a final time. That it wouldn’t be fitting if she didn’t, considering her last departure. And to have closure with _someone_ , considering the past week’s events.  

He replied to meet him at the Gustave Moreau museum (one of the few places in Paris she had never been), in the _cabinet de_ _réception_.  The small room housed several bookshelves, a large desk made of dark wood, and several replicas done by the artist while he was in Italy.

She felt his presence before she saw the black in her peripheral vision.  

“Why this place?” She asked, eyeing the framed copy as closely as was allowed by the marking on the floor.

“Moreau is a long-time favorite, an artist on the brink of a shift in the art world.  He taught the likes of Matisse and Rouault.  He captured a level of mysticism no one else has.”  Vincent replied, cocking his head to peer at the piece he had no doubt seen for most of his life.

“So this is Vincent The Art Collector?”  She teased, turning her head to him, a slight grin on her lips.

He blinked slowly before shifting his gaze sideways to her, raising an eyebrow.  “I wasn’t aware there was a division in my persona.”

“I’ve just never heard you actually...discuss art.  I wasn’t paying attention when I snuck into _Vanités_ …” she admitted, looking back at the painting.

“Don’t tell me you called me to play tour guide, Ms. Cousland.” To anyone passing by, his tone would have indicated annoyance; she caught the subtle playfulness, the same he had used on the night Marion admitted to killing Kat, the same from that night two years ago.  

Blue eyes locked with green for the first time that morning.

“You’d certainly make a better one than Raphael.”

“I’m better than that bumbling moron at _many_ things.  He almost got you killed.”  Another subtle change in his tone, one she almost missed.  

“You almost _had_ me killed.”  

_If I didn’t know any better, he almost sounds...upset._

“Surely my efforts made up for _some_ for that, at least?”  He fixed his tie, giving her a sly smirk, one that always seemed to disarm her, just a little.  “I _did_ put off my swing-”

“I said no gory details.”  She whispered quickly, walking away from the painting, barely seeing Vincent’s slightly offended expression.

He followed her to the next piece, maneuvering carefully in the tight space around the large desk.  His tone betrayed the flicker of annoyance she saw, as he said softly, “Regardless, I dropped what I was doing.  I can’t say Raphael would do the same.”

_Neither can I._

Sophia’s right hand fell onto her left, feeling her bare ring finger at the mention of a man she no longer felt much for other than respect.  And yet every time he was brought up, guilt rippled through her.  Perhaps a part of her had wanted her return to Paris to bring her back to him, remind her of what she saw in the goofy history buff.  But all she saw was bitterness and jealousy.  

She didn’t reply but he accepted her silence as an answer and didn’t push further.  Instead, he offered her his elbow, which she took without hesitation, and led her out of the study.

* * *

They went to the third floor study, her eyes tracing the line of the spiral staircase railing the entire way.  The entire place was filled with hug paintings, from mythological to biblical subjects.  She let him lead her a bright painting, Jupiter sitting on a throne, Semele draped over his lap in death, his splendor too much for her to bear.

“I always hated this myth.” Vincent said softly.  “The idea that something divine existed, something so powerful we would never see it in this lifetime.  That if we look upon it, we perish.”  He paused once before his brow furled.  “Not to mention the glorification of violence, especially towards women…”

 _Ah, right...Jupiter was Zeus’ Roman counterpart._ Sophia thought, her eyes darting between her...companion and the painting.  She still held his elbow and he hadn’t corrected her or moved away.

“But the amount of detail Moreau put into this work... _that_ I can appreciate.”

“This was…” she looked to the didactic text near the painting.  “One of his last large works, right?”

“It was.  There are hints of his own mourning at the base of the throne,” he gestured with his free hand to the masked figure with a bloody sword and the other with a crown of thorns on her head.  “Red and blue are often found in biblical paintings for a Madonna of Christ figure...he lost his mother, rather than a mother losing her son.”

She listened as he continued, his tone soft and even, enthusiasm tempered but very present.  She wondered if he had ever considered being within the art field but felt such a question would distract him.  

And perhaps it was too... _personal_ at the moment.  

She had yet to figure out just where they stood with each other.  Their kiss had confirmed what she already felt and Vincent Karm wasn’t the kind to easily resort to such gestures with _just anyone_.  She had taken him off guard, if his wide eyes and dazed tone indicated anything at all that night.  

He had risked everything he had, if not more, in helping to free Paris from Alia’s flood. They all had. But Vincent was left with little to begin with, considering the two years in prison and a warrant out on his name and financial activity.  He had put his jacket around her shivering frame before disappearing when the police showed up; Vincent didn’t return until she had brushed off Hugo’s request to take her home.  She was tired of cops and questions and this entire ordeal.  He refused to take his jacket back when she shed it from her shoulders at her doorstep, merely requesting she get some rest and take time for herself for once.

Whatever they were, it wasn’t enemies.  Not anymore.  Probably not since her first night in jail.

* * *

They left the museum some time later, her hand still nestled in the crook of his elbow.  He only paused to pull out a pair of aviator sunglasses from his breast pocket and slide them on, his eyes hidden behind the dark green reflective lenses.

She lost her pair in the catacombs and was stuck squinting and using her other hand to block the bright afternoon sun.  They walked in relative silence, down Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin, passing Galeries Lafayette, eventually past Opera Garnier, winding their way around the building until they crossed a final street.  They entered Café de la Paix, Vincent gesturing to a table near a window as a waiter approached, Opera Garnier in full view through the bustling traffic behind her.

“What is it you wanted to see me about, Ms. Cousland?”  Vincent asked, preparing his coffee as he spoke, only looking up at her again when he was finished.  “Surely not to entertain you.”  

“I’m leaving Paris tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Kat deserves to be with her family.  And they deserve the truth.”  Sophia ran a finger up and down the handle of her cup of coffee, eyes drifting to the window.  “I have more keeping me here than America but they deserve to mourn properly.”

 _Damn you, Sophia.  You had things worked out...things you wanted to say.  So say them_. She thought.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

_And damn him, too.  Damn him for being everything I want and the reason I don’t want to leave._

“Closure, Vincent.”  She shifted her gaze back to him, blue clashing with green.  “I want closure.”

Tension hung in the air between them, an unspoken understanding.  His help, their kiss, their last parting.  Surely he felt it too.  The challenge they offered each other, the utter respect for each other’s talents; he was too cognizant that she could never be contained in the way Raphael had attempted to do.

She had tried imagining a life without him in it; hell, she had _tried_ a life without him in it and all it managed to do was bring her back to Paris, back to _him_.

“I left Paris last time without it, with only your warning ringing in my ears” she said softly.  “And it cost me Kat.”

_It could cost me you, if I don’t at least try._

Vincent leaned back in his seat, mirroring her gesture of running a finger over the smooth porcelain of his cup.  He was silent, assessing her; she knew his gaze well enough by now to know when he was thinking.  

“Surely Alia’s story and her capture gave you everything you needed.”  He prompted, brow furled slightly.  “At least concerning your personal vendetta.”

“I mean whatever…” she gestured vaguely with a hand to the space and the table between them, “...this is, Vincent.  Because that line between us blurred long ago.”

The cafe was quiet for the afternoon, a lull likely due to an afternoon performance at the surrounding opera houses.  He watched her with an expression she had rarely seen before, the ghost of a smile genuine, reaching his peridot eyes with a glimmer as he leaned forward, forearms on the table and his fingers steepled above the cup.  To anyone else, he merely looked like he was perhaps proposing a deal  

“The day you left,” he said softly, in almost a whisper, “solidified my regards for you, ones I held the moment you stepped into my office.  You were running away, yes, but it was to find what you needed, headstrong as ever.  I realized that night in prison, when you returned, that I…” she could have sworn his voice wavered for a second as he whispered, “wanted to do everything in my power to never see you in pain again.”

“Vincent-“

“You have your obligations, Ms. Cousland.  I desire many things, perhaps many of them with you, but I do not wish to keep you from doing what you must.”

_Why is he doing this?  Why is he pushing me away?  Was I wrong?_

Sophia took a deep breath, keeping her tone as neutral as possible despite the pressure in her chest.  “Can you just be straightforward for five seconds, Vincent?  Because if I return to Paris, it’s with intentions for citizenship and a permanent place here.”  Her expression turned serious, the same way it did when she was listening to witnesses and piecing things together. “Whatever is between us now, I...I want it, and I want to explore it.  But I don’t want to go through that trouble if I’ve mistaken something for what it’s not.  If there’s nothing left for me here, tell me.”  She said earnestly, hoping her words weren’t mistaken for desperation.

DeValois would put in a good word for her with her naturalization process; apparently saving the city through her skills as an investigative journalist was enough to shorten the period from five years of residency to two.  It still meant a rigorous process, but it was _something_ .  His way of thanking her for saving the city and setting his campaign back on the right path.  She would finally have a home here, _could_ have a home here, as her heart longed to.

Sophia’s candor lowered his guard just a fraction, his eyes widening slightly at the weight of her words.  They stared at each other in silence, the only noise being whispers of other conversations, of glass clinking and cutlery on porcelain.

His _lack_ of answer said everything and it took every ounce of self control not to let her face crumble right there.  Why wasn’t he at least giving her an answer?  Vincent Karm was never without words, never without a snippy comeback.  

“Right,” she whispered, breaking the stare to gather  her phone and rise from the table.  “That’s all I needed to know, then…”

She passed him to head towards the entrance of the restaurant when she felt a hand grab hers gently.  She stopped mid-stride, looking ahead, terrified for a moment.  This is idiotic, this was _Vincent_ fucking _Karm_ she had just admitted her feelings to; why would someone like _him_ want _her_ , an American journalist with a tendency for trouble and lacking in proper table etiquette?

She steeled herself for his words, swallowing silently and willing away the burning sensation behind her eyes.

“Sophia, there’s _everything_ for you here, if you wish it.”  He said it so softly she barely heard it but when she processed it, her heart caught in her throat as he continued.  “I would give you the universe if you asked it of me.”

“I don’t need the universe.  Just you.”  She replied, perhaps a little too quickly, too eagerly.

He chuckled lowly and her stomach did a flip.  “And you know where to find me, when you return.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”  

“But you’re very good at keeping in touch.  Perhaps a text or a call, instead of postcards.”

She laughed softly and agreed, finally turning her head to look at him, blinking away tears.  Sophia caught a flicker of fear in Vincent’s eyes, gone before she could find it again, replaced with his usual confidence and charm.  She would be lying if she said she wasn’t terrified herself, perhaps in the best way, for what the future could bring...or perhaps take away, as it had Kat.  But she knew better than to let herself suffer in the unknown all because of fear.  She felt now what she hadn’t so long ago; reassurance, constancy, freedom...the beginnings of something else she couldn’t pinpoint.

“I have to go and pack but I can’t seem to move.”  She whispered.

Sophia felt her stomach knot and then growl, the sound causing her to break eye contact and wish her body knew better than to make things awkward.  

Vincent adjusted his hand, dancing his fingers across her palm to cup her fingertips with his, bringing her knuckles to his lips.  “Then stay and eat.  Your suitcase isn’t going anywhere.”

She did, and allowed herself to actually enjoy her last day in Paris.  Vincent walked her home after she declined the offer to have Eugene drive them back, her fingers interlaced with his.  Perhaps it was selfish of her; it was a forty minute walk to Canal St. Martin and he probably had other things to do, but he obliged, opting to have Eugene drive him back to...well, wherever it was he was living, considering his fugitive status.

She dared to rest her cheek on his arm as they walked and, as with their contact earlier, he didn’t correct her or ask her to pull away.

They arrived at her door, Sophia holding the door open for him after she unlocked it, much to Vincent’s confusion.  

“I have to return your suit jacket.”  She clarified, remembering the black Armani suit jacket hanging in her closet.

He followed her upstairs, his eyes trailing around the apartment’s stark interior, much of the belongings in the space gone.  Sophia had packed up everything of Kat’s and had it shipped to her parents already; most of the apartment had once been filled with Kat’s things.  

Sophia had no intentions to come back to this apartment again when she returned from her visit home.  She asked for Vincent to wait in the almost-empty living room as she retrieved his jacket.  It wasn’t until he was in the threshold of her apartment that she spoke again, thanking him for the afternoon.  She stood on her toes to graze her lips on his, once, twice, and then a third time, as if trying to imprint the feeling of his lips on hers into her memory.  

“I’ll have Eugene drive you to the airport tomorrow,” he whispered, their mouths millimeters apart, his free hand cupping her cheek.  “Let me know when you land.”

“Of course.  Thank you.”

With a final kiss, he left and she closed the door, locking it before resting her back against it, a weight finally off of her chest.

* * *

As promised, Eugene was waiting for her downstairs in the morning, the black towncar sticking out like a sore thumb on the almost vacant street.  

The drive to Charles de Gaulle airport was mostly silent, Eugene’s choice of music playing softly on the radio.  When they arrived, the valet opened her door for her on his way to the trunk to retrieve her bags.  

This was the first time she was seeing his face, an inevitability considering there was no way to hide it this time.  He was about as old as she was, maybe a little older, actually, with a crop of red hair and hazel eyes.  Sophia took her suitcases, thanking him, and then saw a tiny glimmer in Eugene’s eyes, a stray tear at the edge of his vision.

“Are you crying, Eugene?” Sophia asked, watching the manservant curiously.

“Maybe,” he snipped back.  “You’re coming back, right?”

“I don’t know when, but yes.”

“Good.  Remember what I said: I don’t want to see Vincent’s heart broken.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Eugene.”  Sophia said, smiling earnestly.

“Have a safe flight, Ms. Sophia.”  She began to walk away and heard the trunk of the car being closed.  “And thank you!”

She turned halfway, her hands still on her suitcase handles, casting a confused glance back at Eugene.

“You know what for.”  He replied, standing near the trunk of the car before returning to the driver’s seat.

 _Not entirely_ , Sophia thought.   _But I think I know what you’re getting at._

She settled into her seat on the plane some time later, knowing that when she came back, she would truly be returning home.


	2. Chapter 2

Vincent pressed the home button on his phone, the screen lighting up to show a picture of Esteban sleeping and some email notifications.  Odd.  Usually she was awake by now.  It was a little past noon for him (six-something in the morning for her) and she was an early riser.  He was used to counting forward or back to adjust for time-zones for meetings, so the habit was nothing new, per say.  He had adjusted the smaller clock on his watch the day she left in order to keep track of the time but by now the six hour time difference was second nature.  

Unlocking the phone with his thumbprint, the picture of Esteban changed to a photo of Sophia, one she had taken herself when she was proud of her hair cooperating that day (she called it a selfie, a word he abhorred but was forced to use, working in media).  He could imagine her laugh that often paired with the smile she wore, her blue eyes bright. She looked well-rested for the first time in a while. 

Almost six months.  Summer came and went, the chill of autumn finally settling into the city.  Six months without her somehow felt longer than the two years in prison. Perhaps it was due to the fact they had resolved things before she left.

He wanted closure that day too.  After carrying her through the city and her bold move on that bench, he knew it was the beginning of the end for him.  He would never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t at least _know_ how she felt but the fear of the pain kept him mute, only acting just before it was too late and he lost her forever.

He checked his messages, her last one from early last night, merely saying she was coming back soon, before the month was out.  It had apparently taken longer than she expected for her citizenship papers to be processed and to receive a new work visa so she could begin her two-year residency requirement.  He wasn’t entirely surprised, given the political climate for her profession.  

He would have appreciated specific dates and times so he could welcome her properly. He supposed those would come in due time.

Vincent sighed quietly and locked the device, placing it on his desk and turning to gaze out of the large windows behind him.

He preferred his personal office to this one, truthfully; he hated being so accessible and walking through the busy hum of the office building.  Eugene could only buffer so much when people who protested his return as CEO were sitting in the lobby, waiting for a chance to spit venom at him.

At one point in the past, the view before him stirred feelings of power, awe, desire, pride.  He needed nothing, wanted for nothing.  Paul’s death drove him to seek solitude, close off chances for connection, knowing pain would be the only result.  

And then Sophia arrived in Paris and everything shifted; try as he did to tilt everything in her favor to work for him, she saw through his facade so easily.  She wormed her way into his mind, his heart, and even when he was thrown into a cell to await trial, he found his thoughts wandering to her.  In another life, she’d have joined him, he would have succeeded, but he wondered how different their relationship would be.  

He felt a pang in his chest as he watched the city bustle around him, airplanes soaring over the city.  He never doubted she would return; she was a woman of her word and kept her promises.  

Sometimes he kept his private office door open, even when he worked late into the night, on the off chance she might just...wander in.  Late-night calls were, after all, their thing, it seemed.

Vincent Karm would never admit to missing anyone, except perhaps Esteban.

But he _did_ miss her.  Probably far more than he even realized.

Days like today meant his mind was clouded with concern when he needed to focus on meetings and running his company.  The last thing he needed was someone leaking to the press that Vincent Karm was dazed and unfocused; he had fought to return to this office and he would not have it so easily taken from him ever again.

He remembered how his heart twisted agonizingly the first night she Facetimed him, after the burial during her first two weeks back home.  He saw the traces of red under her eyes, tiny streaks of mascara she had missed, and heard the slight hoarseness in her voice that came with a long period of sobbing.  He had meant what he said that day in the cafe, that he wanted to do everything he could so she would never feel that kind of pain again.  

He felt powerless that night, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in years.  

Yet somehow, over the course of her absence, he felt closer to her than he ever did to anyone in his life previously.  She made good on her promise to keep in touch and they spent hours talking when their days allowed it, their discussions sometimes resulting in ideas, inspiration running through him for the first time in a long while.  He read the pieces she published while she was away, noticing lines she used from their conversations now and again when she asked him if he knew anything about a particular event or person or topic.  

He had half a mind to make an excuse to fly to the States and surprise her, if it wouldn’t cause international incident by him breaking terms of his release.  He was no longer in prison but he was still caged; somehow this felt worse.  His heart was free but it ached for someone not at his side, someone he wasn’t able to follow.  At least, not yet.

A knock brought him out of his thoughts; Eugene’s knock, he knew, from the way his knuckles tapped against the thick wooden door.  Vincent sighed, turning around to face the door.  “What is it, Eugene?”

The door opened a crack and the red haired man poked his head in before sliding through the small opening all the way.  “There’s an...unexpected guest to see you, sir.”  

Vincent narrowed his eyes at his servant; the man was odd, certainly, but his tone in this instance was peculiar.  Eugene’s voice never wavered, never carried any indication he was taken off guard.  He was never so discreet when opening his office door either, not even when there was no one to see him.  

He had no appointments at this hour.  In fact, he only had one meeting in about an hour and several reports to skim through.

He had the time, he supposed.

He glanced down at his desk and checked his phone, unlocking it as he said flatly, “Send them in.”

His eyes were glued to the screen as he quickly read through an email, hearing soft footsteps and the door closing behind whoever entered.

“What can I do for...” He began, looking up before his voice died in his throat.  

Air left his lungs and he had to remember to _breathe_ as his eyes fell on the woman across the room, dressed too casually to be anyone who worked for him (none of his employees dared wear denim in his office).  She was wrapped in a fall jacket and a scarf, her brown hair a little windswept from a walk outside.  

“Hello, Vincent.”  Her voice...it hadn’t even been that long since they last spoke over the phone.  There was a slight tremor in her voice, as if she feared he might turn her away, or wasn’t sure if she was wanted _here_ , that his official office might not have been a good idea.  

To say it was a surprise to see her was the understatement of his life.  Her bright blue eyes bore into his very being and he was overcome with the knowledge someone had kept their promise to him, not out of force or blackmail, but because she wanted to.  

His chest tightened at the thought.  Was this what the essence felt like?   Looking at her, he felt as if his world was complete again.  His mouth felt dry, as if stuffed with cotton.  He was overwhelmed with shock, his heart beating loudly in his ears.  She was _here_ , _in front of him_.

_Sophia…_

“I’m sorry for not telling you, I caught the last red-eye out of JFK.”  She said, approaching the desk, her hands trembling slightly.  “Is this a bad time?”

He walked around his desk, still dazed from shock, and wrapped his arms around her.  She still carried the slight chill from outside and smelled of orange blossoms and vanilla.  He held her tight, only tight enough to solidify that it was indeed her, to remind himself of what it was like to hug her.

“There is never a bad time to see you, ma chérie.”  He whispered, burying his face in her hair.

Vincent kissed the top of her head before cradling her face in his hands and kissing her softly, carefully, almost afraid that if he didn’t, she would disappear again.  His lips found hers again and again, soft and gentle.  Kissing her reignited a part of his soul that laid dormant in her absence; he was starved of affection, of touch, of her warmth.  But he was patient when he knew to be.  Vincent wanted nothing more than to savor the way her soft lips met his, warm and sweet.

Sophia deepened the kiss unexpectedly, her hands grasping the lapels of his jacket for a moment before resting on his chest.  She tasted of coffee and something sweet, perhaps chocolate.  He was almost brought back to their first kiss, just as sudden but with only a fraction of the passion as there was now.  

He broke the kiss, both of them out of breath but far from finished with each other.  Her lips were parted, slightly swollen from their kisses, her breath mingling with his.  Vincent rested his forehead against hers, his fingers tangling in her long brown hair, soft to the touch.  

Everything about this was unreal.  He dreamed of the day he would get to see her again, but this...this was something he had never felt before.  Elation, pure joy combined with a desire to simply _be_ , as if life itself finally held meaning.  Everything made more sense with her with him, beside him.

“You came back.”  He whispered, knowing she would understand the unspoken part of his sentence, that she came back _to him_.   _For him_.

“I told you I would.”

“Forgive a lonely man his penchant for enjoying small things.”  She gave a soft laugh at the reference to their last encounter when she returned to Paris and he pulled back just enough to see her face.  “Although, you being here negates that loneliness.”

“I should _hope_ so.”  Sophia said as he pressed his lips to her forehead.  “You have Esteban, too, though.”

“Hardly the same as holding you.”

“Fair point.”

Silence enveloped them, neither of them wanting to let go of the other.  Part of him felt like this was just a daydream, that it was impossible for her to be here.

“I missed you, Vincent.”  She said, her voice muffled against her scarf.  “Calls and texts aren’t the same as this.”

“They aren’t.”  He agreed and rested his head on hers for a moment when a thought came to him.  “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I only landed less than an hour ago.”  

Vincent broke their embrace, forcing himself to step away from her to take his phone, sliding the device in his jacket pocket as he picked up his landline.  “Reschedule my 1:30, please.  Tell them it’s a personal matter and ask for something tomorrow morning.  In fact, I’m leaving for the day, so reschedule anything else as well.”  

He heard his secretary confirm and then thanked her before setting the phone back in its cradle, turning his attention back to Sophia.

This was impulsive of him, he realized, but as he looked at the journalist, he didn’t care.  Not today, at least.  His position might be a bit precarious but his board trusted him and so did the department heads; one day wouldn’t hurt.  

He would be a fool not to take the opportunity to enjoy her return.  Work could wait.  

Vincent walked over to her and took her hand in his, raising it to brush his lips against her knuckles.  Her fingers were just as warm as his, if not a tad warmer. He had missed how well her smaller hand fit his, no matter how he held it.  His peridot eyes never left hers as he said, “I am yours, mademoiselle.  Shall we?”

Sophia’s face turned a light pink at the gesture, managing a nod as she smiled softly.  “You didn’t have to...I didn’t surprise you in order to-”

“I wanted to.  I couldn’t sit through that meeting knowing you would be stuck waiting for who knows how long.”

 _I couldn’t very well leave you and sit in that meeting thinking of you the whole time._  He thought, lowering his hand but not letting go of hers, his thumb tracing patterns into the back of her hand.   _I’ve waited long enough to see you._

She squeezed his hand slightly.  “Then, where to?”

“You’ll see.”

He led her out of the office, out of the building, and into the busy streets of Paris.  

It was then Vincent realized that while Paris had always been his home, he had never felt more complete than he did in that moment, his hand in hers.  As they walked, he cast a glance down to her, watching her take everything in again as if it were new.  

 _I meant what I said, that I would give you the universe, should you ask it._ He thought, watching the sunlight dance in her hair.  

Sophia glanced up at him as they paused at a crosswalk.  “Is something wrong?”

“No, my dear.”  He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, resisting the desire to kiss her again.  He was more than comfortable around large groups of people but he wasn’t about to make her push her own boundaries for his sake.  They had only ever kissed in seclusion, after all.  “Nothing at all.”

 _Quite the opposite._  Vincent thought. _Nothing could be more perfect_.

* * *

They ate at a secluded place, far from the usual places tourists might stop, far from the usual restaurants he took business meetings in.  Small, quaint, a place she would easily miss if she wasn’t paying attention.

Sophia wondered just _where_ he could be taking her now, as they wandered through the backstreets, greenery coming into view ahead.  

She expected for him to be surprised by her arrival, but his demeanor improved exponentially just in the split second it took him to register it was _her._  Not that he seemed particularly upset or down, merely...preoccupied, drifting in thought.  

Sophia couldn’t stand being away a moment longer once her paperwork came in.  She had hastily packed her bags and booked her flights for that very night, not giving a second thought to just how expensive her impulse was.  The longer she stayed across the ocean, the more her heart ached.

Six months was long enough.  Two years and six months, if she wanted to be accurate about it.  She cared about him long before her return to Paris, long before Kat’s murder resulted in almost total devastation for the city.

Her fingers were intertwined with his as he led her through the park, through the winding paths until they reached a stone bridge, small but intricately made.  The water underneath was littered with leaves of burning red, bright orange, and warm ochre.  Some birds were still braving the water, gliding silently underneath the bridge.

It was peaceful here.  Secluded.  She had no idea such a place even existed deep in the cosmopolitan jungle of Paris.  For an afternoon, it was quiet, the occasional person passing or jogging by.  

They stood at the railing, Vincent’s free hand resting on the cool stone, one of his fingers tracing the surface as if in search of something.  Her blue eyes caught a glimpse of three sets of initials, faded with time; VK, RL, PG.

 _RL...not Raphael, surely?_ Sophia thought, casting her eyes back to the pond and the trees, to the Paris beyond the boundaries of the almost-bare branches around them.   _Who, then, was PG?_

Somehow, this place reminded her of Central Park but with fewer...angry geese and lost tourists.  It was a small park, but it was amazing how muffled the sounds of the city were.  Kat would have liked it here.

“Would it surprise you if I said part of the reason I reacted the way I did that day was because I know precisely what you had to deal with?”  Vincent said softly, his eyes fixated straight ahead but he wasn’t entirely present.  “That I didn’t want to burden you with more when you had yet to resolve your own grief?”

Despite all of their conversations over the past months, the topic of _why_ he had almost let her walk away never came up.  A topic she was afraid to mention; after all, why bring it up when in the end, they had resolved their tension, their feelings?

“I suppose not, but that...would only mean you know the loss of a friend.”  Sophia replied, turning her head towards him and stepping closer, their arms touching.

Vincent nodded, looking down at the railing before locking eyes with her, his thumb running over her hand absently.  “This was one of his favorite spots, he always liked watching the ducks and swans.  Paul was...taken far before his time.  Kind, curious, so...optimistic, seeing the best in people.  He was dealt a bad hand in life, treated poorly by most of the people he met, but he never let that hold him back.”  He bent down to brush his lips against her forehead before turning his head back and looking straight ahead.  “Sometimes I wonder what the world would have been like if he were here still, decades later.”

Sophia rested her head against his arm, looking out in the same direction.  A lingering, silent understanding tied them together, her chest tightening at the realization the man she cared about knew her pain so well.  

 _We_ are _cut from the same cloth_ , Sophia thought, remembering his teasing line from months ago.  

“I’m sorry.” She whispered.

“As am I.  Your Katherine was one of the brightest PhD students her university had; the world is poorer without her.”

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed there next to one another, watching the trees and the water.  Sophia didn’t press him further, just as he didn’t ask about Kat.  She willingly shared tale after tale of their time in college.  She didn’t expect Vincent to share in return; Sophia didn’t want her grief to feel heavy again, to loom between them.  That Vincent let her ramble on spoke volumes in and of itself, something that amazed her even now.  

One of their FaceTime calls had been mostly her talking about an article and the various elements she was trying to connect, her mind going a mile a minute.  Vincent merely listened, watching her, dare she think enthralled.  As much as he enjoyed talking, manipulating the conversation to his benefit, he was a keen listener, a skill very necessary in his line of work.  

She listened to him talk about first meeting Paul, the impact his own friend had on his life.  She watched his face change, become animated whenever a brief wave of emotion passed over him, his voice tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia.  Time had eased his wound but it hadn’t healed it, not entirely.

The mutual understanding of loss wasn’t something she expected, nor did she expect him to even say as much as he did.  He rarely talked about the past beyond their own shared history.

 _Decades...he must have been young then, no older than...late twenties, maybe,_ Sophia thought.   _Are we simply two sides of the same coin?_

Vincent Karm always seemed to keep her on her toes, even now.

She heard him step away from the railing and felt his eyes on her as she came out of her thoughts, blinking for a moment as she looked back at him.  There was something...so gentle in his expression, a rare and wonderful and _genuine_ smile ghosting over his lips.  It suited him quite well and made his eyes shine even more than they usually did.  She could still see fragments of sadness over his features and she raised a hand to his cheek, watching his green eyes close, seemingly savoring the touch.  He turned his head, his hand coverings hers as he laid kisses on her palm.

“I’m glad you came back, Sophia.”  Vincent said softly.

He laced his fingers with hers, turning her hand to kiss the back of it, before closing the distance between them to kiss her softly.

 _I don’t think I could ever tire of you kissing me,_ she thought, looking back up at him to find the same smile in place. She couldn’t help but return it.

“I believe you mentioned you still have to unpack?”

She nodded sheepishly, having forgotten about her discarded suitcases in her hotel room.  He chuckled, a low noise she would never get tired of hearing.  He led her back out of the park as the sun slowly set, a chill settling into the air as the sky grew orange and pink.

* * *

Sophia leaned on the balcony railing, her sweater sleeves covering her hands as they clasped a warm cup of tea. She splurged and got a suite with a kitchen and a view, since she didn’t know when she would be able to find an apartment.

Unpacking went quicker than she expected.  She only had Duchess and her clothes, the cat hiding in her closet when she realized her owner wasn’t alone.  Marion’s death threat had scared some of the adventurous spirit from the feline when it came to new people.

By the time that was done, Eugene was stepping through the threshold with food and wine. Vincent merely explained he asked Eugene to prepare dinner as his green eyes examined the wine bottles with scrutiny.

As she looked out at the cityscape, she realized the gesture wasn’t only because he was thinking ahead but because he was taking her into consideration as well.  Usually that was _her_ role, by default, since she naturally thought to put others first.  She was touched to be considered, _included_ , rather than left to her own devices.  She would have simply either ordered room service or go to bed without eating, considering she was running on pure willpower at this point after her pathetic attempt to sleep on the plane earlier.

She returned to the living area after showering to discover a cup of tea waiting on the counter, Vincent nowhere to be found.  Odd.  She took the one and decided some night air would be nice; chilly, but not unbearably uncomfortable.  Sophia took a sip of her tea, savoring the warmth and the harmony of the flavors.  It was something Eugene had brought with him, certainly nothing she had ever tasted before.  

She almost knocked her mug off the balcony when she felt warmth behind her and arms around her waist.  

“Sorry, ma chérie.” He whispered into her neck, kissing her pulse point once before standing straight.  “It seems I _can_ scare you, contrary to what you think.”

She set her cup at a better, safer location before turning in his arms, seeing the lights of Paris glimmer in his eyes.  “Unintentionally.  You, as a person, don’t scare me in the slightest.”  

He was silent, only giving her his trademark smirk she adored so much.  She felt one arm leave her waist as his hand cupped her cheek, his hand palm against her skin as he dipped his head down to kiss her softly.  Heat grew in her stomach and her heart fluttered again, as it always did whenever he kissed her.  Her hands rose to his chest as his other arm pulled her closer to him.  She smelled his cologne, the scent faint but so very _him_.  This time he deepened the kiss and she felt herself grow dizzy, overwhelmed with the emotions and sensations he managed to awaken in her in such a short amount of time.  

She only returned a few hours ago and it almost felt like she never left, as if they were picking up right where they left off.

“I missed you,” she said, their noses brushing as his lips hovered over hers, their breaths heavy, “everything felt a little emptier than it already was, without you.”

She felt his lips brush right underneath her ear, where her jaw met her neck, featherlight kisses trailing down her jaw until they reached the corner of her mouth.  “I missed you,” he kissed her so lightly she barely felt it, “more than,” he kissed her again, “I even,” another kiss, “thought,” yet another, “was possible.”

Her heart pushed its way into her throat at his words, so candid and open.  Everything about these sensations was simultaneously overwhelming yet so amazing; she had felt them before, certainly, but not like _this_.  Six months had only managed to intensify everything, solidify her emotions even more.

They stayed that way, her lips finding his over and over, until eventually she turned around again.  Her chest constricted at a feeling she hadn’t had in years, one of belonging, security, safety.  As she leaned into his hold, Sophia realized she  never felt more at home than she did now, in Vincent’s arms, gazing out at the city she saved twice.  

 


End file.
